Bullets in the Gun
by lynxzpanther
Summary: Set in the aftermath of Cobb's death, based loosely on the song by Toby Keith. Arthur/Eames


**AN: Based loosely around the Toby Keith song Bullets in the Gun: really, really loosely. Warning: main character death. I've never written one before, so I'd really like to know how I did if anyone has time to review at the end. ^.^**

**Dislciamer: I own neither the song nor the brilliant movie, just the idea to mesh them together somewhat.

* * *

**

It took three weeks for word of Cobb's death to reach Eames. He was lying low after a job gone-right gone-wrong, one in which his goal had been stealing secrets from the point man of the team instead of from their target. The team had failed, but Eames had been successful—so successful that, though he now had a much larger sum of money in his bank account, he also had half of the criminal world coming after him in revenge. In hindsight, taking that job may not have been one of the most intelligent choices Eames had made, but it had been more than worth the adrenaline rush and challenge of manipulating professional manipulators with them none the wiser.

When he heard of Cobb's death, of the funeral he'd missed, and when he heard that only vague few had seen Cobb's point man since, the risk suddenly became not worth it at all, because he _should have been there. _

Eames might forever feel a little guilty that the sinking feeling in his gut as he overheard the news was less due to Cobb's demise and more because of his worry about Arthur, but then, he figured Cobb's wouldn't mind much anyways. For all of his faults, Dominic Cobb had been a mostly selfless soul.

Tracking down Arthur was nigh on impossible—the slightly possibility left open only because Arthur _wanted _Eames to find him—but he managed it, a week later. He let no wayward emotions show as he entered a little bar in Arizona; _why _Arthur had stayed state-side was beyond Eames. Then again, that was Arthur's style: Eames picked his hidey-holes the same way everyone else did, in random places that he'd never frequented before. Arthur was always two steps ahead, the kind of person who would hide in the most obvious of places, because everyone else would assume no one would be stupid enough to hide out in the open.

Eames was careful to keep a profession, detached interest as he examined the scene he found himself in. The bare was homely, all dark wood and polished tables. The counter was lined with a dozen or so barstools, all but one unoccupied. Behind the bar was a wall lined with shelves, those shelves crammed full of hundreds of various alcoholic beverages. The bartender was down at the very end of the bar, the edge furthest from the doorway Eames was standing in. The left side of the room was full of tables with nice looking if cheap chairs, and the left and back walls were lined with cozy, dimly lit booths. The room held around two dozen people, a healthy crowd, but it was eerily silent. Eames could hear quiet background music drifting through the room, the volume so low that it shouldn't have been audible but was nearly clear in the deafening silence.

The crowd appeared to be trying to act normal, to pretend they weren't all staring at the lone figure sitting on a barstool and casually sipping his drink, but they were all failing miserable. Actors they most certainly were not, not like Eames.

The most interesting—and worrying—aspect to the scene, though, was the man slumped on the floor, awkwardly smashed between two stools with his neck in a position that was going to _hurt _in throbbing agony when he woke up. He looked to have been punched out; blood trickled from his mouth, but Eames was relieved to see that he wasn't choking. He gave up that battle as lost before he even started fighting it, shrugged to himself, and entered the room a bit warily—not that anyone would be able to notice.

They _did, _however, seem to draw in a collective breath as he took a seat at the bar, right next to the person they were all so terrified of. Eames signaled to the bartender who watched him for a handful of _long _moments, clearly wishing he would disappear, but when Eames did not disappear he was forced to approach them cautiously. "What can I get you?" The words were quiet, as if he was afraid to break the silence. Eames couldn't blame the guy; this ominous atmosphere made him queasy.

"A scotch, please?" The man poured him a drink in record time and was back down the bar without a word. Eames was pretty sure he could escape without paying and the guy really wouldn't mind.

Eames sipped unhurriedly at his drink, waiting patiently. He caught a line of the song currently playing, an alternative little number sung by a British boy who had an overly soulful voice, "Don't forget, if you ever need me, I'm only a vodka away from you…" Apt for the situation disturbingly well, Eames decided, and determined that now was the time to speak up.

"Hello, Arthur," he said, his tone just as husked as the bartender's had been.

"Mr. Eames," Arthur greeted from next to him. He spoke at normal volume and Eames saw a few people flinch from the corner of his eye.

"How bad?" Eames asked conversationally, trying to not sound as hopeful as he felt.

Arthur downed the rest of his drink and turned to meet Eames' gaze, but his chocolate eyes gave nothing away. After a moment he nodded, and Eames was well versed enough in Arthur's habits to know that this meant he'd passed some test of the point man's. Eames didn't know what test that could be, but passing was enough of a relief that he didn't really care. "Follow me," Arthur said. He got up and walked away, not glancing back to see if Eames was following.

Eames hurriedly dug a couple twenty dollar bills from his pocket and tossed them on the bar to pay for his drink and any drinks that Arthur may have had before following his friend out into the baking Arizona heat. He heard a rush of chatter start up as soon as Arthur was out of sight and smiled despite the hopelessness of everything.

He followed Arthur into a small, shady side alley a few blocks away. The cool was a relief from the intense heat, but Eames' shudder had less to do with the weather and more to do with the lost and slightly wild look in Arthur's gaze. He was a wild animal, one that had once been tamed but had turned feral once more. Regardless, Eames couldn't deny that he cared for this man and wanted to protect him from the world. "How bad?" he asked again, very sure that he didn't want to know the answer.

He was right. He listened carefully as Arthur listed off the various felonies he'd commited since Cobb's funeral two and a half weeks ago: he'd done everything from petty thievery to arson to murder. There seemed to be a dare in Arthur's eyes as he let the words spill out, holding nothing back. He was daring Eames to forsake him, to leave him to die, but Eames couldn't do that.

"Okay," he said calmly when the stream of words ended. "Okay. How long until they find you?"

Arthur checked his watch. "Ten minutes?"

Eames cursed. "Give or take?"

"Take," Arthur admitted. He let Eames drag him off to the Ferrari he'd rented—Eames had always liked to travel in style, probably a side effect of his childhood poverty—and sat quietly as they sped toward the boarder. "Why Mexico?"

"Where else do you go when running from the law?" Eames asked, not really expecting an answer. He was thinking like Arthur, he didn't think one was necessary. Everyone went to Mexico, but with Arthur's scheming brilliance no one would think to look there for them. At least, Eames hoped so, or else they were screwed.

They drove on well into the night and the following morning. Eames' eyes grew itchy and tired from lack of sleep, but he was used to that feeling and he knew just how long he could ignore it before it became problematic. A couple hours short of that limit he found a reasonably sized town and used his limited Spanish speaking skills to trade his lovely Ferrari for a less conspicuous pickup. The man he'd given it to was ecstatic, too naïve to see past the initial wariness that had passed when Eames had asked for nothing more than the trade. He'd passed over the documents of registration without a protest and loaded Arthur into the pickup. The man had managed to fall asleep at some point around dawn. He'd finally looked almost peaceful and Eames had loathed needing to wake him, but they needed to swap cars if they were going to have a chance.

"Can you keep driving?" Arthur asked, not necessarily worried but curious all the same.

Eames gave a small nod. "For a few hours yet. We'll stop then."

Arthur nodded, losing interest and falling asleep on the passenger door once more.

Three hours later he parked outside a small hotel in a large city (the name of which had escaped him; he couldn't spell it, much less say it, so hopefully that would deter any Americans chasing them). Arthur woke unaided this time as the car rolled to a stop and was out quickly. Eames gathered his duffel from the back and, for the first time, realized Arthur had nothing. "Do you need anything?" he asked, but Arthur shook his head once and headed inside without a backward glance to see if Eames was following. From most this would be a show of faith, but Eames knew that from Arthur it meant that he just didn't _care _if Eames took off. It hurt, more than it should have and yet less than he expected it to. Of course, he'd hurt Arthur with his month long absence. He'd never promised to be there for him, not specifically out loud, but he'd betrayed him by not showing up just the same.

He checked out a room, paying little attention to which one they gave him, and was a bit surprised to find only the one bed in it. Conniving people. He sighed, too weary to go down and swap it out, and glanced over at Arthur. The other man shrugged, _almost_ a familiar twinkle in his eye, and gave half a grin. Eames took that as assent enough and all but collapsed. He was probably out before his head even hit the pillows.

His first conscious thought upon waking was that he hoped Arthur hadn't run off. He'd gone through all that effort to find him and it would bloody _suck _if he had to go through it all again. He would, forever, but that wasn't the point.

His second thought was that he was much warmer than he should have been, but only on his left side. He opened his eyes to see that Arthur had managed to cuddle up beside him in his sleep and now had his head pillowed against Eames' side. He had curled around Eames a bit like a puppy and Eames found it adorable, something he would have attributed to Arthur a month ago, but not now. It gave him hope.

He didn't want to move, but he knew they should be going. He shook Arthur awake gently and the man woke with a start, pulling away from him quickly. Eames took no time to mourn his absence before he was on his feet and out the door, duffel over his shoulder. If he didn't look back, well, that was because he _did _trust Arthur. After all, he hadn't run away the first time.

They stopped for dinner in a little restaurant—Mexican food in Mexico was very different from Mexican food in California and Arizona, he decided—and were on the road again by nightfall. "Where are we going?" Arthur asked. He sounded a bit more interested now and actually _looked _at Eames when he asked his question, so Eames smiled at him when he answered.

"No clue. Driving blindly might confuse anyone on our tail, so I figure, why not?"

"Combination of our styles, then," Arthur noted with a grin.

Eames shrugged. "Well, we _do _both have brilliant minds. It'll take some exceptionally brilliant minds to track us, don't you think?"

Of course, the fact that Eames still had people after _him _didn't help. He couldn't go through any of his usual contacts to get them out of this scrape. The safest way to get them both out of this would be to split up, but he couldn't do that. Arthur didn't do well when left alone.

Arthur had only shrugged in response to his question and they'd both fallen silent. The roads were dark, lit dimly by the moon and a bit more brightly by the car's old headlights, but the shadows at the edges of his vision were a bit scary.

He'd pulled into a bustling city in southern Mexico by morning and decided to stop there. He checked into a larger hotel in a busy but not touristy part of town, hoping they'd be less noticed that way, and was again given a room with only one bed. He could have argued it, as he wasn't half as tired this time, but the memory of Arthur curled up beside him snagged his will to do it. Selfish as it was, he wanted to feel that again.

The bed was fairly large this time and they took their own sides respectively. Neither man was tired, but they lay there silently for a while. "Why didn't you show up?" Arthur finally asked.

Eames was relieved that the other man had finally asked it. The question had been hanging between them for two days, but he hadn't been willing to explain himself until the other man was ready to really listen. "I didn't know." As excuses went it was a fail, but it was also true, so he figured that might win him back some brownie points. "I was pretty cut off; I'd completed this high-stakes job and… well, my usual contacts weren't too thrilled with me. Still aren't." He shrugged and glanced over at Arthur before returning his gaze to the ceiling. "I wouldn't have touched the job if I'd known Cobb was taking on anything dangerous, darling. I swear."

"A whole month?" He heard the skeptical note, the unsure note, but it warmed him a little because it meant that Arthur _wanted _to trust him.

"Three weeks," he clarified, "but you're not an easy person to find, love. It took me another week to track you."

"Oh." Arthur was silent for a few more moments. "I didn't think you were going to come," he admitted. "I gave up."

"I know, darling, and I'm so sorry. Why didn't you go with someone else?"

He could feel Arthur's sarcastic look burning into him, but he welcomed it, because Arthur was warming up from the frozen person he'd been the past couple of days. "Who else was there, Eames? Ariadne?"

True. Arthur didn't trust many people and it wouldn't have been fair to send him off with Ariadne. Not that she couldn't handle him; he wasn't a hard one to handle. Arthur was just a bit like a wild horse; untamed. He was a rogue element when he was alone; he needed someone else to define himself and his morals by. He was a bit like a mirror; he reflected the people around him. Ariadne was young and in college, building a real life; she didn't have time for them and shouldn't have to make it.

Eames should have been there.

"I'm sorry, love."

Arthur sighed and shook his head. "You're here now."

Silence lapsed and Eames' mind began to drift. "Goodnight, Arthur," Eames finally decided to mumble out.

He heard Arthur's soft laugh, so much like music, before he fell asleep. "Goodnight, Eames."

The next morning dawned early, but for once they had nothing to do. Eames had decided that they should lie low in the city for a few days; they didn't have anywhere to go, after all, and driving aimlessly would only get them so far. After a while their fates were best left to luck.

Of course, they eventually ended up in a bar. It was a frequent occurrence in Eames' life and seemed rather frequent for Arthur recently as well. They won a few hundred dollars playing poker and downed copious amounts of alcohol before managing to stumble back to their hotel unscathed. That probably had more to do with the fact that they could project the most menacing of auras when they wanted to than that they actually knew where they were going, but either way was fine by Eames.

They were fairly drunk when they got to their room, but that didn't really explain _why _he decided to kiss Arthur. He definitely wasn't drunk enough for that, so he had to man up and mentally chalked it up to reality that he'd wanted to kiss Arthur for a very long time.

He had to wonder why he hadn't done this so much _sooner _when Arthur kissed back, because Arthur was most definitely not drunk enough to not be aware of the situation either.

He hadn't really expected things to go much farther than the making out he'd initiated, but when he fell asleep hours later his naked limbs were sweaty and entangled with Arthur's equally sweaty and naked limbs. He had never been more content in his life. This was where he belonged.

Waking up to sirens was _not _the most peaceful start of the day, especially not when the window showed police lined up in the street with fucking _gun _aimed… at the windows, at which point Eames decided to get the hell away from the damn window before they noticed him gawking like the idiot he so clearly was. He yanked on his jeans and watched as Arthur did the same across the room. Arthur looked to him to make the next decision and Eames hesitated, unsure. "We'll make a run for it?" He couldn't see a better option, really; they didn't know the layout of the hotel and there weren't any Escher traps in this reality.

Arthur nodded, waiting by the door as Eames joined him. They listened at it carefully; running footsteps approached and passed by. "Stairs at the end of the hall," Arthur reminded, and Eames nodded. They would run for those, then. Eames reached out to the door and was stopped as Arthur quickly kissed him. The air was stolen from his chest in that moment; his heart might have stopped but that didn't prevent him from kissing Arthur back with all he had, because this might well be his very last chance to do it. Then he wrenched open the door and they darted into the hall and scrambled down the stairs, quiet and quick. Dream training was useful.

Not useful enough, it seemed, because they were surrounded as soon as they slipped out the back door. Arthur pulled out a pistol and fired off a shot, but there were too many of them. They were going to die.

Eames was a bit proud of himself in that moment, though, between realization and death. He'd known this was the most likely outcome of their adventure, but he hadn't left Arthur. Every moment with the man had been worth it; one day with Arthur was worth more than a lifetime alone.

Shots rang out and bullets filled the air. The shells clattered to the ground, little bells covering the silence as the dreams of two men were extinguished, before all fell silent once more.

* * *

**Reviews are love! ~Lynx**


End file.
